


The Ripple Effect

by dapatty



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Ford never dreamed that his investigation into an apartment fire would lead him so far down the rabbit whole, nor did he imagine just how far his team was already in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ripple Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge [](http://pictures2words.livejournal.com/profile)[**pictures2words**](http://pictures2words.livejournal.com/) and the lovely artist. Girl, I am so blessed to know you and I hope you like this.

Nathan Ford’s search for the truth that was out there began with a seemingly normal investigation into an apartment fire in sunny, southern California. His search would become a part-time obsession of sorts. It turned out that it wasn’t just the one fire. Trying to puzzle out these two fires might just get the best of him. But, he had to figure this out. He felt like he owed these two women—Mary Winchester and Jessica Moore—to understand. The answer had to be there just out of the corner where he was looking. He was sure it dealt with demons, which he would have sworn were fiction. The more he looked into the case the more probable the impossible seemed. Of course, getting veiled threats from a Winchester didn't deter him in the least.

“So you’re an insurance guy,” a man’s voice spoke from just outside the lamppost’s light.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Nathan Ford replied, proud that he hadn’t jumped right out of his skin from surprise.

The man stepped into the light. Scruffy, buzz-cut, oversize leather jacket, with piercing green eyes adorned the young man before him. _Christ, he was young_. And with an air of something harder underneath the surface that had yet to properly solidify.

“You know who I am,” he said, setting his jaw.

“Dean Winchester,” Nathan said.

“Got it in one,” Dean confirmed.

“I bet this is the point that you tell me to back off,” Nate said conversationally. “That will only add suspicion to your brother.”

“Maybe so,” Dean nodded then gave Nate a look full of sincerity and warning. “But you should drop it and not look to deep. You won’t find anything good.”

“That’s not a confession,” Nate said. It wasn’t.

“Trust me,” Dean said, a grimace or something else coloring his face for a moment. “You need to just trot back to the boring real world and leave any hint of mystery behind you.”

Then he backed out of the light and walked away. A week later, Nate still couldn’t find any logical answers aside from the State Fire Marshall declaring it an electrical fire. So, Nate went back home and kept thinking about that fire, Dean’s warning, and the fire that burned down the Winchester’s childhood home.

He’d even had Hardison look into it once he’d assembled the team.

“You know,” Hardison had said after he’d looked over all of Nate’s research and started tracking records of the brothers, “I’d say this was an unhealthy obsession.”

Nate gave him a look that said everything between ‘Oh really?’ to ‘Are you kidding?’

“But you’d just tell me again how I drink too much orange soda,” Hardison said, clicking away at the keyboard. “And a man needs his orange soda to stay alert and energized.”

“You said you had a contact,” Nate cut the young hacker off before he could really get going on his rant. Nate knew that Hardison could go on for hours if he didn’t head it off at the pass.

“Right, I did,” Hardison confirmed. Nate lifted an eyebrow.

“I do,” Hardison clarified.

“But,” Nate asked, feeling a headache come on. He fought the urge to massage his forehead.

“Okay. Me and him might’ve had some beef recently and it might be a little difficult to acquire the info from the man as it would have been without said smack down occurring,” Hardison elaborated.

“Sounds like someone found the limit to their supposed greatness,” Nate said a little snidely but he was smiling.

“There is nothing supposed about my greatness. It’s just that Ash needs a little coaxing to get him to see things my way,” Hardison, typing a few keys and bringing up the video connection. On the other end of the line a dirty blonde mullet with a scruffy looking hick underneath was staring back.

The redneck announced with a drawl, “Dr. Badass is in.”

“Ash,” Hardison greeted.

“I do not recognize that name. I suddenly feel less like helping and more in the mood for another PBR.” Ash said.

“Ash,” Hardison sounded like he was trying to put his proverbial foot down and failing.

“Did I hear something? Some young punk muttering at me?” Ash asked, tossing some of his hair over his shoulder. “I can’t hear you over how awesome I am. And I’m a busy awesome man.”

“Dr. Badass,” Hardison said in a tone that would have rivaled any wronged seven years old.

“Now that’s more like it,” Ash grinned and Nate was surprised to find that he had all his teeth. “What can I do for you today Hardison?”

“I need some info and I know that you’re in the know,” Hardison started.

“Does all of your hacker friends have these handles, like Chaos?” Nate asked. “What’s yours?”

“Look, some of us are frienemies and if you got any respect and love for me, you will not mention him again,” Hardison said.

“The dude Colin is a douche bag,” Ash agreed.

That was how Nate confirmed his suspicions about the more colorful side of reality—the one with all the weird and unreal things. A month later he found out that Sophie really knew a psychic in Kansas. Six months after that, while tending to some very gnarly bite wounds, he found out the Eliot went on hunts of his own occasionally. Over a year later, he barely batted an eye when Parker said she knew an angel, though he was a little surprised when the trench coat wearing fellow showed up in his kitchen and stared at all the coffee in his cupboard. For awhile, he set his little pet project aside. No one would ever tell him the whole truth of the matter of the Winchesters, so he waited.

But that didn’t stop him from focusing all his attention on it on occasion. Especially on one such night when Nathan Ford would swear that he’d never had a worse headache.

Being so engrossed in his search for the truth, he didn’t hear the man walk in. It was all he could do not to jump out of his skin. Normally he expected such visits.

“Sterling, what are you doing here?” Nate asked the man, whose suit was still crisp at this late hour.

“No, wrong on that one,” Sterling, or the man who looked a hell of a lot like him, said and took a sniff out of the bottle of single malt. “This is good stuff. All lovely and peaty,” he clarified taking a deeper inhale of the amber liquid. “Are you sure you don’t want any? We both know that you’re not quite as good without it.” The smile the would-be Sterling made Nate shudder.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Nate shrugged, covering his discomfort. “If you’re not Sterling, just who the hell are you?”

“Crowley,” the man introduced and his eyes flashed black.

“Wh-what?” Nate couldn’t make his mouth form words. “Demon, you’re a demon. Are you possessing Sterling?” He sounded aghast. There wasn’t any love lost between Sterling and him—not anymore. Times use to be different, but he wouldn’t wish the man possessed. They were friends once. His friend was in there.

“It’s a time share,” Crowley shrugged taking a greedy sip. “I know how he feels about you. Respect, quite fond. He misses you,” the Demon looked a touch regretful then gathered himself. “Now, Mr. Ford, I’m here to give you a little friendly advice.”

“Really? Your kind, as far as I can tell, don’t seem to be the kind for friendly advice.”

“Well, I’m a business man. A real people person,” he gave a cheeky grin and elaborated. “They’re fun. I like when the really fun ones stick around. And I wanted to clue you in just a little. Mr. Ford, you and your little band of thieves may be the big deal in your own little corner of the world, but you’ve got no business involving yourself any further with things of even seedier natures. Specifically, the Winchesters. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Nate asked, digging in his heels. Something about this whole thing infuriated him. Maybe he just never liked being told what he could and could not do.

“That path lies certain death. And I’m not just being dramatic,” Crowley gave Nate a hard look, almost like he was trying to will Ford to understand. “The apocalypse is on. And those two idiots just might fail. I pray they don’t, literally.” He sighed, “but sometimes you just got to bend over and kiss your ass good-bye. I don’t won’t you on the front line of this. It’s really not your place. ”

“Well, that sounds promising. Sounds like even more of a reason to be involved,” Nate nodded, trying to shove that pit of dread aside. Hell, he’s not really one for speeches of heroism.

“I’m serious Mr. Ford. Nate,” Crowley insisted, looking impatient at him. “You have always been so insufferable. Stubborn. Like a dog with a bone. You’ve never learned how to let go.”

“That’s not true,” Nate protested.

“Isn’t it?” Crowley asked.

Nate gave an arrogant ‘you-tell-me’ shrug.

“No really,” Crowley insisted. “You’ve quit drinking liquor, but you’ve switched to coffee and are more brazen in the jobs you run. You got your revenge on your old company for you boy’s death, but it still gnaws at you. You wanted them to hurt more, wanted more devastation.”

Nate stared daggers at him but couldn’t find his voice, however Crowley certainly wasn’t at a loss for words.

“You keep going after the truth about these boys, about their family. There aren’t any good answers there, Nate. A lot of bad and worse are after these boys and it will all fall on them and you too, if you’re in the way. The pit started this and the featherbrains have seen it through. So drop it.” Crowley looked furious and unmovable.

“I want you to tell me what you know,” Nate said at last.

“Want to make a deal with a devil?” Crowley looked a touch cheeky, shifting back to his devil-may-care persona.

“No, I want to know so I can make an informed decision. I won’t just drop this because a thing that looks like a friend I had once tells me to,” Nate declared.

Crowley nodded, glimmer of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Fair enough. Of course, once I tell you, you can’t unknow it. You already know quite a lot and more of something isn’t always better.”

“I want to know,” Nate said, voice firm conviction evident.

Crowley nodded and told him about Hell, the dicks Heaven calls angels and a plot going back to Cain and Abel. He told Nate about the war and about how those two brothers are the ones destined to stop it and how they refused. How the world was going to end and there’s no way to stop it because Dean Winchester refuses destiny at the price of existence.

Nate went ahead and had a shot of Scotch. He knew it wouldn't solve anything and he wasn't better with it, but sometimes there's only a few ways a man can respond to hearing about the end of the world. Besides, it had almost been nice drinking with the demon. He might just like Crowley a little more than Sterling. He at least got the sense that Crowley was going to be completely honest about trying to screw Nate over.

Parker would be the first to tell anyone that the main two things she liked—no, loved—were money—lots of it—and stealing things. Mainly because, she could never have enough money to have, hold, and put Scrooge McDuck to shame and the fact that she’s a great thief. Parker explained all this to Castiel after she had repelled from a building she was escaping from.

When she met him, she hadn't planned on meeting any angels that day. She'd been breaking into a safe in a high rise simply because it was a Tuesday and had nothing better to do. He was standing on the roof, wearing a trench coat and a very rumpled suit, when she climbed out of an air duct in the roof. She froze when she saw him, visibly swallowed and asked, “Are you Sterling’s accountant or something?” Because really, what else could a girl say to someone who looked so out of place and should not be there. It was the middle of the night. No one of right mind would be on a skyscrapers’ roof, unless they were evil or stealing something. At least that was Parker’s experience.

Cas had tilted his head at her and wondered if maybe he should get a new, more stream-lined suit. But all thoughts were cut short when he would have sworn on his Father’s word that the talisman in his pocket felt warm.

“No, but Sterling is connected to a demon,” Cas said. “Though both of their allegiances are quite questionable.”

Her eyes widened dramatically and took off running and leapt off the building, because to Parker, a 65 story drop was much better than dealing with anyone who knew Sterling, even if they did talk unfavorably about them.

Cas met her at the bottom and she did a double take at him. “How did you? Weren’t you just?” She sputtered, pointing and gesturing up toward the roof then back at him then everywhere. “You were up there and now you’re down here. But you don’t have a rig!”

“No,” Cas replied. “I do not have a ‘rig.’ I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Did you fly?” she asked, since she couldn’t see any wings. Actually he looked kind of lost, like he was waiting for someone or something. She’d been lost. She could relate. Maybe he wasn’t that evil.

“Something like that,” Cas explained.

“Which one are you?” she asked.

“Castiel,” he answered. “What is your name?”

“I’m Parker,” she chirped.

“Is that a first or last name?” Castiel puzzled.

“I suddenly feel like eating late night diner food,” she declared. “You can come too, if you wanna walk and would rather surprise people in a warmer environment.”

Naturally, he followed her. He was too curious not too and it would give him something to do until Dean called again. Besides, her daring reminded him of Anna in a way and maybe it wouldn’t hurt him to feel kinship with another creature for awhile.

After they got a table and Cas refused any form of sustenance, they stared at each other for a long while.

“So, you’re an angel?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cas answered.

“I’m a thief,” she said, like that was the appropriate response. For all he knew with Parker it was and he suspected as much. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I have rebelled Heaven’s rule,” Cas answered. “I do not think it is my place to make judgment on such a small discretion.”

“What are you doing walking around down here anyway if it’s to not judge people?” Parker asked.

“All people, even those less savory, are Father’s creation. It isn’t my place to judge them only Father’s,” Cas explained, then sighed. “At least that is what I believe.”

“Clearly you’ve never been to a birthday party with adults dressed as animals. You might change your definition of ‘less savory.’” Parker shuddered.

“I am looking God,” Cas admitted and surprised himself.

“A lot of people are,” Parker said, almost sagely. “Having any luck with that?”

“No,” Cas answered, looking down at his hands on the table.

“He wouldn’t happen to be some artifact in a museum locked down under heavy security would he?” Parker asked.

“No,” Cas answered, looking at her with a tilted head.

“Then I won’t be able to steal him for you,” Parker said somewhat sadly and completely serious. “Have you tried England? I think I read somewhere that God was an Englishman.”

Cas almost felt like smiling as the waitress showed up with Parker’s food and his glass of water that he had no intention of drinking or even touching.

Parker dug in immediately with a zeal that Dean would even be impressed by.

“Why haven’t you eaten a hamburger again?” Parker asked, mouth full and talking around her smacking. “They’re delicious.”

“I have no need of such sustenance,” Castiel said. “And you should masticate with your mouth full. It is undesirable behavior.”

“What’s it to you? You’re an angel, right?” Parker doused her fries in ketchup and picked up a handful.

“Yes, and say it a little louder. I don’t think the hounds of hell heard you,” Castiel looked even more morose.

“So why would you care about my behavior. I’m just a human,” Parker shrugged, then remembered Sophie mentioned that she should share and offered, “Fry?”

“No thank you,” Castiel said.

“Too much ketchup?” she asked, like that was a perfectly reasonable reason for rejecting French fries.

“I really must be going,” Castiel said and moved to stand.

“Back looking for God?” Parker asked.

“Yes,” Cas confirmed.

“You know, if He were a thing that I could steal, I would have already stolen Him for you, so that you could stop looking,” Parker said.

"Why?" he asked. Cas was frozen in place. Of all the times that he could have chosen to have a conversation with another human, he did not know that he would happen on one with such a compassionate streak. Never mind the fact that stealing were involved.

"Because you look like someone who could use a break," Parker shrugged.

Sure, there’s a lot he still doesn’t understand about her. She’s uncouth. She licks her fingers. She steals things that she doesn’t even need. She makes even less sense then the obscure movie references that Dean Winchester uses to describe things, but he thinks that maybe he’s made another friend.

"Thank you," he said and disappeared before she could say anything more and before he could figure out the feelings in his chest.

******

 

She heard the bell to the front door and would have sworn on a stack of Bobby Singer’s more colorful demon texts that she had locked the deadbolt.

“We’re closed,” she called on her way out of the storeroom. When she saw who had made himself at home at one of the freshly clean tables, she couldn’t have told you if she were happy or furious.

“Eliot Spencer,” Ellen said. Just saying his name was an invitation to trouble. “I’d say I was glad to see you, but I’d probably be lying.”

It’d been awhile since she’d seen him, but he didn’t look much different. That same cocky, self-assured grin was still there. So was his nerve calling her ma’m with his dusty cowboy boots propped up on the table while leaning back in his chair looking at her like he wanted all sorts of things. He looked more than a little happy to see her, but he hid it behind his charm and gruffness. His want was tucked into the corner of his mouth and the tilt of his head. A part of her was happy about that and that part pissed the rest of her off.

“Ellen Harvelle,” Eliot said, ruff voice honey sweet, “I’d say something nice, but you’d just slap me for it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ellen agreed then got down to business. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she asked, latching onto her anger and using it as a shield. It’d be easy to go along with whatever he’s offering. But she just might be too old for this shit. Hell, she was too old for this nonsense five years ago. It was the case the last time she saw him just under a year ago.

“A man can’t visit an old friend?” he asked sitting up properly and leaning towards her.

“No,” she said, putting her proverbial foot down all while slapping hands on the table in front of him, challenging.

“Well in that case,” Eliot said. Then he was moving, fast—so fast, took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. And oh how that boy could kiss, all deep, thorough, tongue sliding in—uninvited but not unwelcome. She might’ve missed this just a little. Okay. A lot. She might’ve just been moaning into his mouth a little.

He pulled away and she slapped him to hide her embarrassment. That only made him look smug. Bastard.

“I hope to Hell that you’ve got a bed around here somewhere, because if it’s farther than a few minutes, we’ll just have to use the floor.” Eliot practically growled in her ear as he led them toward the door of the saloon.

“Since when do you care about that bullshit?” Ellen asked.

“I always try to treat a lady right,” Eliot protested.

“Threatening to fuck her on the floor is treatin’ her right?” Ellen asked, fumbling with her keys as she lets them into her late model car.

“Well, it’s not like I found you in Paris,” Eliot shrugged, lacing his fingers with hers and thumbing a circle on her wrist pulse point. “’Sides, play your cards right and I’ll order us some Chinese later.”

“You’d look for me in Paris, if I were that kind of girl?” Ellen asked, and she couldn’t pin down why.

“I’d look for you anywhere if you wanted me to,” Eliot admitted. He was giving her a good long look—part smolder and part sincere, but Ellen couldn’t bring herself to glance over. It had been so long since anyone had looked at her that way and she kind of like this thing between them when it wasn’t something so serious. Either way, she couldn’t get them to the motel fast enough.

When they finally arrived 8 minutes later, Eliot snatched the key from her and let them in. Ellen thanked God and countless other things that Jo, her daughter, was visiting a couple friends in town and wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow.

The door was no more than clicked shut than Eliot pushed her up against it, grinned at her with all kinds of naughty promise that caused her to shiver and grin back. He pushed her hair aside and proceeded to nibble at her neck while working the buttons of her shirt open.

Ellen started lower, working on his belt, button and zipper making his pants drop to the floor. She slid her hand inside the open seem of his boxers causing Eliot to growl into her neck. “Woman, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He gave her another quick kiss, and then moved so he could pull off his button up shirt and undershirt.

“Mmm,” she gave an appreciative noise. “Nice.” She then leaned licked one of his nipples on his muscled chest while ghosting a hand across his flat stomach.

“Oh really?” he purred in her ear. “Two can play at that game,” he declared, pulling her shirt off and making quick work of her bra.

As he looked hungrily at her breasts, cupping them in his rough hands, “Now this is a nice sight,” he said tweaking one nipple then the other causing Ellen’s breath to catch at the sensation. “Pants. Off.” He ordered still teasing the skin of her breasts.

“Bossy son of a bitch,” Ellen countered, pushing against his hands to make the room to slide her pants over her hips and shimmy out of them.

“I just know what I want,” he said, hands moving to slide under her thighs and lifting her up. Ellen wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to the bed and lay her half on the pillows. He kissed her as he tugged her underwear off causing her to move her legs to rest on the bed.

He grinned devilishly at her then proceeded to kiss her neck. He turned his focus to her breasts using the slightest graze of teeth until Ellen gave an appreciative moan. His attention turned lower after that, ghosting kisses till he arrived at his destination. He turned his eyes, hooded with desire, to look up at Ellen causing her breath to catch.

“Ask,” she whispered. “What you want,” she clarified.

“You know what I want,” he said, cheek nuzzling her thigh.

“Then take it,” she said, spreading her thighs open for him to find her wet already.

He placed a soft kiss on her stomach, resting one of his hands there. His breath was hot, tickling, but his tongue was even more so. He teased the lips of her cunt, while using his other hand to part the folds for better access to lick circles around her clit causing her to moan appreciatively until she bucked up. He pushed down with his hand on her stomach while sliding in fingers in and out.

“Harder,” she gasped, “God damn it, harder. More, more. There,” she directed.

He chuckled into her causing her to shiver and adjusted the angle on his hand until she was withering in his grasp.

He pulled his face back, leaving his fingers in massaging her through the aftershocks all the while telling her, “beautiful. So beautiful. Love to hear you cuss and carry on. Gorgeous and flushed the fuck out.”

He eased his hand out. The whimper that escaped her mouth from the absence of his fingers would be one she’d deny with her dying breath.

Finding her voice, Ellen said, “Oh just fuck me already you proud-ass cowboy.” She’d meant for it to sound like a challenge, but it might’ve come off a little fucked out.

“Yes ma’m,” he smirked moving away from the bed but coming back with a condom and without his underwear. He tore the package open with his teeth. She took a moment to admire the view of his erect cock, full and hard already leaking pre-come. A thought occurred to her.

“Unless you wanted me to suck you,” she offered and decided actually she’d like that very much.

“All in good time,” he promised, sliding the condom down his thick length. “But if it’s all the same to you, I really want to fuck you until you scream.”

“Well, get crackin,’” she challenged as he crawled onto the bed overtop of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he slid in to the hilt. They shared a groan. “Did you get bigger?”

“I must not be doin’ it right, if you’re talking so much,” Eliot muttered and swiveled his hips causing her to gasp. He nearly slid out and thrust back in deep, followed by a couple shallow thrusts. He repeated this pattern, shifting his hips to brush against her clit every other thrust, his grunts matching her moans.

“Close, so close, deeper, harder, fuck, shit, come on,” Ellen moaned meeting his thrust for thrust.

“Goddamnit, woman,” Eliot growled, kissing her deep and pulling back. “Get there already,” he order and tweaked a nipple and Ellen screamed as her orgasm surprised her. Eliot called out as he came soon after.

He pulled out and removed the condom tying it off and tossing it in the trash before crawling to lay beside her on the bed. She rolled on her side and through a leg over his and said, “Not bad, Spencer.”

“Not bad yourself,” Eliot said with a laugh and moved to wrap an arm around her. His hand ghosted up and down her arm as they took time to recover.

“You gonna let me get dressed this time before you kick me out?” he asked, smiling fondly.

“We could at least go one more round before I even have to think about that,” Ellen reasoned.

“But you’re still gonna kick me out.” He didn’t make it a question. It would have been a silly question anyway.

“It’s the end of the world, Spencer. It’s better for your cute ass if I do.” Ellen said, and was surprised that she heard a little sadness in it.

“I could stick around,” he offered. “Lend a hand or two.”

“We both know it’s not your usual gig,” she dismissed. It really wasn’t. The occasional hunt did not an expert make. He should stick to bashing heads and retrieving normal things.

“But it’s not my first rodeo either,” he countered, but sounded a little defeated.

“Eliot, I appreciate it, but I think it’s best if you stick with your family on this one.” Yeah, she knew about the crew he was running with. When a dream team of thieves got together, it was only natural that word about it would go around.

“Ellen, they aren’t my family,” he protested, but he looked a little happy at the thought.

“You sure as hell could’ve fooled me. The way that you smiled when Parker called the last time you were here and laughed when Hardison sent you that text message. You know, he and Ash had a row once?”

“Did Ash get the upper hand? Please say yes. Hardison could do to be taken down a peg every once and awhile.” Eliot looked gleeful at the prospect.

“I think so,” Ellen said, remembering. “Of course, Dr. Badass wouldn’t have told it otherwise.”

“Hardison wouldn’t either,” he agreed. “Geeks.”

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke, “You know you just have to call if you or Jo needs anything.”

“Yeah I know,” Ellen said as he kissed her cheek and wondered if she’d ever have anything like this again. But, she was damned near positive she wouldn’t.

******

 

Sophie sat at the seer’s kitchen table drinking coffee like it was nothing—like she hadn’t had her ass handed to her by this woman, before. Sophie’s just that English. She was even doing good not to think anything too wretched about Missouri. Bothersome know-it-all.

“I heard that,” Missouri glared at her.

Okay, almost everything. “I imagine that you want an apology. It has been awhile, but I have been sending you Holiday cards," Sophie defended.

“Child, if that was the only thing either of us wanted, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” Missouri said, lifting an eyebrow and looking just this side of impatient. The woman was very good at that actually, a calm triteness that Sophie has found out to be her approach to handling Nate.

 

Right, Sophie knew when she had to be quiet. The first time she’d met Missouri Mosley, she’d lifted a very lovely and rare cameo, carved out of ivory older than her Louis IVX trunk. To Sophie it was merely a beautiful trinket that she’d taken on a whim, but to Missouri it was a piece of history that had been handed down from mother to daughter. The cameo had a mate once—a partner that passed from father to son, but it was lost before she stole the seer’s. Missouri ripped her a new for it, deservedly so. However, after they had ended up with a strange sort of respecting friendship.

Sophie was trying to be better than that now—that being stealing as a means to define herself. She was on a journey to accomplish that. Now, she was just hoping for a little nudge where she should go next. She’d been to Egypt, then to Morocco and back to London. Everywhere but where she needed to it seemed.

“Maybe you should just sit still,” Missouri suggested, picking up on the grifter’s thoughts.

“I am sitting still,” Sophie countered.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Missouri lifted an eyebrow and took another sip of coffee. “Besides, you think you’re the only one to have an identity crisis. At least you don’t have all matter of Heaven and Hell knocking on your door.

Sophie knew who she was talking about. Of course, it was hard not to know something about the Winchesters when traveling in the all the circles Sophie traveled in. She’d met those boys when they’d been teenagers, never mind how old Sophie was at the time. A lady never reveals her age. She’d met their father too. Rest his soul. Sophie also knows how Nate has been a little focused on them. She just hoped that Nate never actually finds out about the real possibility of the world ending. He drinks enough as it is. Especially now that the Harvelle’s are dead and Eliot’s been so bothered by it. Life's fragile enough without the knowledge of the real evil out there no matter how connected it all was, how the ripples caused by one thing can bleed into all the others.

“Ain’t no fault of yours,” Missouri piped in. “It’s not up to you to fix that man. He’s got to do it all by himself, unless he asks. And even then, a woman’s got to use a bit of sense when dealing with him.”

“Do you think it will ever work between us?” Sophie asked. Missouri knew how Sophie felt about Nate and what she wanted and how impossible it all seemed.  
“I don’t know. He’s got a pretty big stick up his ass,” Missouri said sagely.

Sophie laughed. It was funny and oh so true, then slipped back into her more lost thoughts. “Do you think I have time to go back to Paris before the world ends?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what she was the most serious about. The world ending or seeing the City of Lights.

“What? Don’t you have any faith in them?” Missouri asked. Faith could have applied to her little family of miscreants of those boys.

“I’ve got all the faith in the world, but I believe sometimes you have to look at something beautiful to remember why all this is worth it,” Sophie answered.

Missouri smiled, “Now that’s the spirit. You’ll find yourself, soon enough.”

“I hope so,” Sophie said, moving to give Missouri a hug and sliding the long lost cameo into her coat pocket. Finding that piece of history was the least she could do to rectify some of her wrongs. It was easy. She hoped that everything else could be that easy as she made her way out of town. On her drive, she met a glossy black '67 Chevy Impala and waved.


End file.
